


Enjoying Your Unlife

by giantessmess



Category: Hex (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantessmess/pseuds/giantessmess
Summary: Thelma adjusts to not being able to touch Cassie.
Relationships: Thelma Bates/Cassie Hughes
Kudos: 2





	Enjoying Your Unlife

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2006. Given how few femslash fics there were back then I thought I may as well put this somewhere permanent. It is written in second person. Forgive me, it was kind of a thing in 2006 LJ culture and any suffering you have to undergo should be blamed on 2006 me.

So, you’re a lesbian ghost.

There are too many bloody things they don’t tell you in Death 101: For starters, being stuck in the outfit you died in (poncey flower and all), is enough to drive you nutty. Especially when the short dress reveals your fabulous arse to people who can’t appreciate it.

Number two? Your best friend won’t be any nicer to you, now that you’re dead. In fact, she’s sure to be even more of a cow. She’s even nastier than she was when she deliberately tortured you, with all those subtle come-ons.

“Does this look ok, Thelma?”

“Yeah, fine.”

The fashion shows don’t stop. She parades around in front of you, dressing, undressing, half-dressing. Smiling at your undivided attention. Of course she still knows you fancy her, and that seems to suit her fine, because you’re sure to take whatever crap she feels like dishing out.

And the bonus is that you’ll take a good look at her, and tell her when the clothes she’s put on make her look like a total slag. Too bad she doesn’t give a shit about what you’re stuck wearing, for all eternity.

Maybe this is a good time to remind Cassie that it’s her fault you’re dead?

Another stupid fact about life after death? And yeah, brace yourself, because this one's a real pisser.

You can’t touch anyone.

And sure, that should’ve been obvious, what with you having no body and all. But the twist is you can do pretty much anything – open and close doors, eat until you’re bloated. You can perform any stupid little task, but you can’t touch Cassie.

To begin with you thought she’d done something to prevent you from doing it. She was a witch after all, (granted, a bloody hopeless one). But it's more than that. It's like some supernatural chastity belt, grinning up at you. You push it as far as you can – just testing, you know? A hand hovering on Cassie’s shoulder, barely brushing her fingertips with your own. You can snatch her clothes off the floor and chuck them across the room. But when you come to her in the middle of the night and put a hand to her back, your touch passes right through her.

Life may be a joke, but death’s a bloody circus act. The worst part is that she doesn’t give a toss. Cassie doesn't seem to care about anything, really. Just about being normal, being part of that loser group of in people. How can she be so tied up in teenage wank, when the bastard who killed you is plotting to set hell loose upon the world?

Just when you think you’ll go mad with it, you discover the dreams.

It’s like blinking for a very long time, entering someone’s dream. You turn inside-out and twist and gasp and there you are, in another person's secret bedroom.

Cassie is different when she’s dreaming. She’s softer. More open. And after the first time you had sex with her, she had a fit at you the next day.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she snaps, rising out of bed. The bedclothes are ruffled and twisted, as if the things you’d done together were intense enough to spill over into another reality.

“Did you hear me, Thelma?” She searches your face.

“Yeah, do I look deaf?”

“Just dead.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice.”

“I’m not interested in you,” she splutters, too vehemently.

“That’s not what you said last night.” You smirk “You seemed to peak pretty quickly, actually.”

She blushes, and turns away. Her voice is brittle.

“Well, I was out of my mind, wasn’t I?”

Funny, isn’t it, the things people don’t want to admit to themselves? After that you invade her dreams, anyway. Cassie curls around you and gasps as you kiss down her body. She says all sorts of things you'd never get her to mumble in the daylight. She crawls on top of you and ravages you so completely, you have trouble remembering that this is the same girl who walked all over you and broke your heart.

And mornings? They're a time of denial. She never mentions it, beyond blushing at teasing comments you make. But she also doesn’t tell you to stop.

She never tells you to stop at all, in fact.

One morning, you wake up beside one another. She feels so very far away from you, even though you’re lying as close to her as possible. She breathes in and mumbles something out with her breath.

“Hmmm?” You prop yourself up onto your elbow. “What’s that?”

“Thelma,” she murmurs, sleepily.

“Cassie,” you imitate her tone, grinning.

She smiles, but it’s a fuzzy, half-asleep smile. You’re sure she’s about to come to her senses and tell you to piss off back to your own bed.

“Are you worried about me?” She asks, reaching out for you. She flinches, when her hand passes through you.

“You’re awake, Cass,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh,” she’s still confused.

“‘Course I’m worried about you,” you sit up and stare at her. “Malachi’s alive, isn’t he? God knows what Azazeal’s up to.”

She smiles at the mention of her former lover.

“Azazeal…”

You cringe. “You think you’re still bloody asleep, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, but then she reaches out for you again.

“Come to bed, Thelma.”

“Sure,” you shake your head, slipping your feet to the floor. “I’ll just reincarnate right here, shall I? Then you can sleep with me all you like.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m really awake, aren’t I?”

“That’s what I just said,” you snap.

She looks a bit rattled, and a little mortified.

“This isn’t a relationship, Thelma.” Her voice is sharp. A day-time voice. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about…well, this thing that we-” Then she sits up and gapes down at her nakedness. She grasps at a sheet.

“Call it whatever you like,” you mutter.

“But it isn’t-”

“I think you must be allergic to being happy,” you say, crossing your arms.

She turns away, frowning. But instead of fighting you back, she sighs.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to figure some stuff out, alright?”

She rolls her eyes. “Thelma, please don’t go.” Then she speaks softly. “What are you doing?”

You close your eyes and steady yourself.

“Jesus, some of us actually want to prevent big scaly monsters from pillaging humankind.”

Right up until the end, you keep believing that she cares about you. She does, but she’s too tied up in her own shit for it to make much of a difference.

No one tells you that life after death is more bloody painful than dying twice over. You died for her, for crying out loud. And what does she do? She sacrifices her life for the child of a monster.

You couldn’t even grab hold of her, and say a proper goodbye. You just cried as she whimpered, and reached out across the ground toward you. There was nothing you could do but reach back, hopelessly. And when you couldn’t cry anymore, there weren’t any dreams left to pursue her in.

Sometimes you just wish you were dead. Than you realise you already are.


End file.
